Andie's Moon (4 page)

“Wow!” Andie stopped halfway. It wasn’t what she thought of as a cellar, dark and possibly inhabited by rats or mice, but a spacious basement the whole width of the house.

“It’s called a half-cellar, really,” Kris explained, “because it’s only partly below ground level. But that makes it good and light.”

The studio was divided into two by open shelving. Each half, one at the back of the house and one at the front, had its own cupboards and workbenches, and was lit by angled spotlights on the ceiling. Gazing around, Andie saw an easel close to one of the windows, canvases stacked against the wall, ink sketches pinned to a cork board, and shelves of paints, and pens, pencils and brushes in jars.

“That’s all Patrick’s.” Kris waved an arm at the easel. “And this side is Marilyn’s. She makes jewellery – she’s a silversmith. Have you seen that new arcade in the King’s Road? East of the Sun, West of the Moon
,
it’s called. She sells her stuff there. It’s cool.”

“Yes, Prune and I saw it today. We didn’t go in, though.”

“Prune? Is that really your sister’s name?”

“Prue, she prefers, short for Prudence. Prune’s my name for her, but she goes mad if I say it when anyone can hear. So, Patrick’s a painter?” Andie was interested in the easel, which had its back to her. “What does he do?”

“He’s a graphic designer,” Kris explained. “He does all sorts of things – adverts, sometimes book illustrations or brochures, one or two covers for record albums. He does mixed media, so sometimes he paints, but just as often it’s ink or photographs or collage. Right now he’s trying to come up with some ideas for a record company. And he teaches a couple of days a week at Chelsea Art College.”

“How fantastic!” Andie could hardly believe that she was living in the same house as a real artist. What could be more inspiring?

Kris shrugged. “It’s just a job.”

“Yes, but –” To Andie,
just a job
was something you did to earn money. Art was more than that. It was a reason for living.

She moved along the workbench, reverently touching the surface, which was marked with paint and scored by knives. Now she could see the paper attached to the easel with bulldog clips. It was divided into squares, and a pencil drawing was beginning to spread from the top right-hand corner, like a plant reaching out tendrils.

“And you?” she asked Kris. “Do you paint or draw or make jewellery?”

“I mess about with it sometimes. Mostly I’m into drama.” Kris was already making her way towards the steps. “I do a lot at school, and go to a youth group. How about you? Do you dig Chelsea?”

“Yes! It’s so different from where we live, in Slough. The Slough of Despond, Dad calls it sometimes. It’s not really that bad.”

Kris smiled. “It’s the name – Slough! You might as well call a place Swamp or Slump. What hope has it got?”

Andie rather liked
Slough of Despond
, though. With all the moon talk lately, it made her think of something you might find on the lunar surface, like the Sea of Tranquillity or the Ocean of Storms. “Anyway,” she continued, “there hasn’t been much time to explore yet, round here. I want to go to all the art galleries. The museums. And – well, everything.”

“Cool. I don’t mind going with you, if you want.”

“Really?” Andie had convinced herself that she and her family must seem utterly, hopelessly boring to someone like Kris.

“Sure, why not? I’ve got loads of time now school’s finished, and Sophie – she’s my best friend – is in France for the whole holidays. We go to Mary Burnet, near Sloane Square. We have to wear straw hats and gingham frocks and knee socks, can you imagine? But it’s not bad as schools go, not as prim and proper as you’d think.”

Andie giggled, unable to picture Kris in old-fashioned uniform. If Mum and Dad managed to find an affordable flat or house, then of course she’d have to change schools. It might be fun to go to the same school as Kris, even if she had to dress like someone from Enid Blyton’s
Malory Towers
stories.

“You’ve broken up early,” she remarked. “My school doesn’t finish till Friday week. I’m missing the last two weeks of term, being here.”

“Cool.” Kris paused, one hand on the curved banister. “How about tomorrow? You doing anything?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Good – we’ll go out, then. I can’t do Sunday – we’re visiting someone. Come on. It sounds like the others are here.”

The kitchen was now full of bodies and laughter, bright colours and cooking smells. Marilyn introduced Andie to the new arrivals: Mrs. Kapoor, a handsome woman in an embroidered tunic of ruby silk, and her husband, who wore a formal suit and tie like Dad’s. The children, Ravi and Sushila, were alike, both rather beautiful. Their hair was black and shiny, and their eyes were the darkest brown imaginable, under smooth brows. Sushila, who was dressed in Indian clothes like her mother, was already talking to Prune by the Aga; Ravi seemed shy, and had retreated into a corner with a handful of crisps. When introduced, he said hello to Andie with his eyes fixed on the floor.

Soon Marilyn shooed everyone into the sitting room, which was furnished in rich, dark colours and drapes. She and Patrick brought in food of a kind Andie had never seen before – trays of delicious spicy things, and dips, and little dark-green squarish shapes which Marilyn said were stuffed vine-leaves. Dad heaped his plate; Mum proceeded with caution, nibbling a vine-leaf parcel with great suspicion. Andie tried a bit of everything, liking it all except the olives, which made her think of eyes, and tasted weird.

When everyone had eaten as much as they wanted, there was apple sorbet, served with cinnamon biscuits. Andie and Kris sat together on a big floor-cushion, with Ravi nearby, cross-legged on the floor. Kris took care of the record player, putting on one LP after another. She chose Indian sitar music, and something with a harp, and some jazz – nothing Andie recognized.

After the dishes and plates had been cleared away, Marilyn made coffee and the grown-ups sat chatting. Having dealt with estate agents and rent, Mum and Dad’s list of thrilling conversational subjects had now reached school. “So your two go to St. Dunstan’s?” Dad was asking Mrs. Kapoor. “Might that suit Prue and Andrea?”

Patrick passed round a packet of cigarettes, and lit up one for himself and one for Marilyn. Andie’s mum, who was supposed to have given up, took one too.

“Come on! Let’s go to my halfway place,” Kris said to Andie. “The smoke makes my eyes sore.”

“What’s a halfway place?”

“I’ll show you,” Kris said, adding, “Coming, Ravi?”

Ravi had been sitting so quietly that Andie had forgotten he was there, but he nodded and stood up.

Kris led the way to the big central flight of stairs. “This staircase used to lead all the way to
your
floor,” she told Andie, “before the house was divided up. Now we’ve got stairs that lead nowhere – see?” She bounded up to a half-landing, then showed Andie how the next three steps faced a blank wall. This landing had been made into a sitting area, with another Indian rug in jewel colours, and cushions scattered about. “It’s my reading place. Reading and thinking. No one bothers me here.”

Andie was envious. “You’re so lucky! I’m sharing a bedroom with Prune here. At home I’ve got a room to myself.”

“There’s always the attic,” Kris told her. “Patrick can lend you a key.”

“Oh!” Andie remembered the creeping footsteps in the night. “He doesn’t work up there, does he?”

“No, he’s no need to. He keeps a few boxes of clutter up there, that’s all.”

“I heard creaky footsteps up there, about midnight. It must have been a ghost,” Andie said, half joking, but still wondering.

“No.” Ravi was looking at her very seriously. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.” It was the first time he had spoken to her.

“But,” said Andie, “you can’t be sure about that, can you?”

“Well, it wasn’t Patrick,” Kris told them. “He had an early night, ’cos he’d been out drinking the night before. He was in bed before I was – I heard him snoring. So obviously it
was
a ghost. Our very own ghost. But I’ve heard it’s a friendly one.”

She gave a quick, almost furtive glance at Ravi. Andie looked from one to the other; was there something here she wasn’t getting? But now Kris was crooning in a spooky voice, holding out both arms with hands dangling. “I am the spirit of Chelsea Walk…
who-oooh!
… I stalk the attic by night…”

“Don’t be daft!” Andie giggled, though fear prickled her skin.

“Hey, let’s play Murder in the Dark!” said Kris. “We need more people, really, but we can make up special rules for three.”

“But it’s not properly dark yet,” Ravi pointed out.

“I know! We’ll pretend it is.”

They played Murder until it was Ravi’s turn to hide, which he did so successfully that Andie and Kris were still searching for him when the adults came into the hallway, and Andie’s dad said it was time to go back to their own flat.

Darkness
had
fallen by now, and although it wasn’t really cold, Andie shivered as she followed her parents in through their side door and up the steep, narrow stairs.

She knew that Kris and Ravi had been hiding something from her, something about the ghost. Maybe it was only a game – or maybe it wasn’t.

Chapter Five

Star-struck

“Here,” said Mum, handing Andie two half-crowns. “You’ll need to get yourself some sandwiches at lunchtime – I expect they sell them in the museum café. Don’t be late back, will you? I imagine Kris knows her way around, but phone us if there’s a problem.”

They were all getting ready to go out. It was Saturday, and Mum and Dad had decided to visit the Tower of London, something they’d meant to do ever since they were married. Andie and Kris were going to the Science Museum, and Prune was spending the day with Sushila. “She seems a very sensible girl,” Mum had remarked. “Lovely manners, both those children.”

It suited Andie for Prune to have a new friend. Sushila, being sixteen, was probably as obsessed with fashion as Prune was, so they could hang around the King’s Road together. Everyone seemed to have enjoyed Friday night: Andie and Prune because they’d each made a friend, Mum and Dad because the neighbours had been so welcoming. Now the Kapoors had offered to have everyone round in a week or two. “But what about when it’s our turn?” Mum fretted; Andie didn’t know anyone as determined as Mum to turn everything into a problem. “We’ll have to invite them all in
here
– and what will I do about food? I’m no good at those exotic things they gave us. A wine-and-cheese party would be more my sort of thing, or perhaps bridge rolls, and sausages on sticks.”

“Let’s not worry about that till the time comes,” said Dad, in weekend mood.

Before leaving the flat, Andie had to submit to the ritual briefing by Mum: “You won’t speak to any strangers, will you? Or go off with anyone? Or stay out too long? Or do anything you know you shouldn’t? Promise me, now?”

At last she escaped downstairs to meet Kris. Andie’s first choice for their day out would have been the Tate Gallery, but Kris seemed intent on going to the Science Museum: “With all the moon stuff going on, they’ll have something special there – and besides, it’s near Hyde Park. We can go there after.”

Oh well; there would be plenty of other days for going to galleries. Andie fell in with Kris’s plans, and they caught a bus to South Kensington.

The Natural History Museum, and the Victoria and Albert opposite, looked like vast, ornate palaces, made of stone. The Science Museum, a more modern building, was in the same street. Kris led the way purposefully inside; Andie gazed around, trying to take in everything at once. Where to start? A plan showed that there were three floors of galleries, with signs pointing to Rail Transport, Electric Power, Children’s Gallery.

“Space Technology,” Kris said, pointing. “We’ll save that till last.”

It was fun to have the freedom of the whole museum, with no teacher and no question sheet to fill in. They looked at the giant pendulum in the entrance hall, which was supposed to show how the Earth turned on its axis. “Though,” Kris said, “we’re not going to stand here long enough to see it happening.” They passed quickly through Printing, paused for a while at Time Measurement, then went on to Flying Machines, which ranged from the first spidery contraptions to warplanes and models of modern jet aircraft.

Best of all was the space section. There were replicas of the Russian sputniks that had started the Space Race, and of the Saturn V rocket that would power the astronauts to the moon. Andie gazed and gazed, and thought how strange it would be when it became real – not just something that was talked and dreamed about. The painting she’d finished early that morning – a moonscape – had turned out well after all, in spite of her struggles the day before, with a kind of accidental eeriness that was better than she’d meant. If Kris hadn’t been with her, she’d have made quick drawings in her sketchbook now; but seeing Patrick’s studio had made her self-conscious. She didn’t want Patrick to know that she thought of herself as an artist. But, then again, why not – mightn’t he be able to help her? It would be daft to live in the same house as a real artist and never have the nerve to approach him, wouldn’t it? Maybe when she knew Kris better…not yet.